


be my forever

by etoilune



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fashion Design, M/M, Model!Harry, but this is the first chapter at the moment so bear with me they'll be here soon, designer!louis, liam and niall will be in this eventually!!! as will others, my first venture into the one direction fandom, tags updated as story continues, texts, the 1975, tweets, ysl, yves saint laurent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilune/pseuds/etoilune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dreary Tuesday when Louis received the phone call telling him he'd managed to get the internship at YSL UK. It was a slightly less dreary Wednesday when he got into a lift with Harry Styles, and his life changed completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! a few notes before you begin:  
> -i don't have a beta; all mistakes are my own and quite likely to occur a lot  
> -i'm not affiliated with one direction etc, and this is quite clearly fiction  
> -as the tags mention this is my first one direction fic so we'll see if it works out!!  
> -those of you who know me know that my updating is terrible and schedules never work, so i apologise beforehand and i will try update as often as possible  
> -title is from be my forever, by christina perri and ed sheeran.  
> anyway, after all of that important stuff: i hope y'all like the fic, and i'll see you next chapter!

It was a dreary Tuesday when Louis received the phone call.

“Mr Tomlinson? Hi! Yes, this is Gemma calling from YSL. Congratulations, you’ve been chosen for the internship!”

“ _Shit_ \- I mean, oh my god, I’m sorry, can you forget I said that? Oh my god, thank you so much, I can’t-“

“It’s fine, Mr Tomlinson.” He could hear her smile through the phone. “Is it possible for you to be at the UK headquarters at 9am tomorrow for your induction?”

“Of course, yeah, anything – thank you so, so much, I honestly didn’t think I’d get it!”

“See you tomorrow, Mr Tomlinson. Have a lovely evening.”

“Please, call me Louis.”

“…Louis.”

Holy _shit._ After a month of waiting, Louis had given up, and yet he’d managed to do it. He didn’t know how, but he’d done it, and wow did it feel good. With a shaking hand, he slid his phone out of his pocket and unlocked the screen.

 

**ZAYN OH MY GOD I GOT IT**

What are you talking about  ? x

**THE BLOODY YSL INTERNSHIP**

Oh ! Nice one x

**WHAT THE FUCK DO I WEAR TO AN INTERNATIONALLY RENOWNED FASHION HOUSE**

You’re meant to be the expert, you’re the designer x

**BUT IT’S YSL**

Lou I don’t even know what that stands for ? x

**YVES SAINT LAURENT IT WAS MENTIONED IN THAT SONG**

**THE ONE THAT YOU SING ALL THE TIME**

**I’M TOO HOT, HOT DAMN**

**THAT ONE**

Uptown Funk :-) your capital letters are giving me a headache x

**sorry x**

 

It didn’t sink in properly until later on that evening, when Louis was standing in his bedroom surrounded by various items of clothing hanging on every available surface. What the _hell_ was he going to wear? He couldn’t turn up in anything short of spectacular, and as he surveyed the options, an idea entered his mind. He smiled, took out the black velvet he’d been saving for a special occasion, and got to work.

* * *

Louis stared up at the overwhelming glass figure piece. It was more art than a building; an architectural structure to be admired rather than just a necessity. He took a deep breath and pushed the door to embark on the next step of his career.

As things turned out, the door was a pull door, and he’d managed to make a fool of himself already – _congratulations, you bloody idiot_ – but luckily, the only person watching was the blonde seated behind the front desk. She laughed quietly as he opened the door again, but the right way this time, and grinned when he stood in front of her desk, blushing.

“Louis Tomlinson? Gemma’s expecting you.”

“Yes, that’s me. Um- if we could just not mention the door thing to anyone-”

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. I’m Hannah, by the way.”

“Well it’s lovely to meet you – you already know my name, so I won’t bore you with repeating it.”

“Go up to floor nine, okay? Gemma – sorry, Miss Styles – should be waiting for you outside the lift. Have a good day, Mr Tomlinson.”

“Please, call me Louis,” he winked. Louis walked to the lift doors clutching his file, and pressed the button. Within a minute the doors opened, revealing mirror-covered walls and, surprisingly, no-one else. He’d expected the place to be at least a little busier than it had been so far.

Stepping into the lift and giving Hannah a smile (answered with thumbs up and a smile of her own), the doors gracefully slid shut, and Louis was uninterrupted until floor two, when the doors opened again and- _oh my god, that’s Harry Styles_. Harry Styles, YSL spokesperson and generally beautiful model, with tumbling curls and full pink lips and green eyes like a forest that someone could get lost in, like a forest that Louis kind of wanted to get lost in forever. And god, his suit was impeccable – tailored exactly right, the shoulder seams sitting neatly exactly where they were supposed to be, the inseam of his trousers pressed straight and running exactly vertically to lean legs, placing him a few inches taller than Louis himself.

“-in a heartbeat.”

Harry Styles, YSL spokesperson and generally beautiful model, was apparently talking to Louis Tomlinson, new YSL intern and not generally beautiful at all.

“Excuse me? Sorry, I didn’t catch what you said-”

“I said, I definitely haven’t seen you around here before. I’d remember a face like yours in a heartbeat.” A lazy grin spread across his face.

“Oh um,” Louis could feel the flush spreading and smirked in an attempt to hide it, “I’m Louis. Louis Tomlinson. I already know who you are, Harry Styles.”

“Yeah, most people seem to, Louis Tomlinson.” Louis’ name sounded like syrup on Harry’s tongue, his voice slow treacle in the air. “I don’t have to ask what you’re doing here. Inspired by 1991 Rive Gauche, yeah?” Slender fingers gestured towards Louis’ handmade blazer. “Fashion designer. Intern, probably, you’re too young for anything else, plus you’d do better with your own label rather than conforming to Yves, as much as I love Laurent. Did I get it right?”

“Yeah, actually, all of it. Hang on a minute though, you can hardly call me young when you’re only seventeen-”

“Nineteen is pretty young, to be honest, and I never said I was old. Putting words into my mouth, are we?”  
_Not the only thing I’d like to be putting there, either._ “Yeah, I am.”

When the doors slid open once more, Louis was startled. “This is where I get off.”

“Alright. I’ll see you around, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Yeah, see you around,” the older teen murmured after Harry’s face was obscured by thick metal walls. Slightly dazed, he turned around to see there was, just as Hannah said, a young woman with an eyebrow raised in amusement, watching him blink widely.

“Louis, I presume? I apologise for my brother, he does seem to have that effect on a lot of-”

“Your brother?”

“Haz, yeah. Didn’t you connect the surnames?” Her eyebrow raised even further as she laughed quietly. “And the good looks, of course.”

“You _are_ gorgeous, but excuse me if I’d rather go for more of a… male figure. Living up to the stereotypical view of male fashion designers and all, you know?”

“It’s a stereotype for a reason,” she answered, and glanced down at the sheaf of paper in his arms. “Designs?”

“Yeah, I thought it would be a good idea to bring them.”

“You were right on that count. Now, follow me, and you’ll meet the person you’re gonna be spending the next six weeks shadowing. You’ll do everything they tell you to if you know what’s good for your career.”

Louis mirrored Gemma’s earlier movements at that, raising his own eyebrow, but stayed silent. Gemma turned the handle, and slipped through the gap into the office leaving just her head poking out: “I’ll be two minutes, okay? I’ll call you in when I’m ready.”

_Okay, that’s strange. But wait- I’m in fucking YSL, this feels like I’m dreaming anyway; maybe I am and none of it’s real and I imagined Harry-_

“Come in, Louis!” Gemma called, and Louis entered the room. Gemma was sitting in a tall chair behind the desk that Louis would have killed for, if only to spend a day making himself dizzy with spinning it.

“Wait, what?”

“ _Someone_ didn’t do their research, Louis – it’s me! You’re gonna be shadowing me.” She grinned. “Welcome to my office.” Gemma stuck her hand out and Louis shook it dubiously. “Gemma Styles, creative director for YSL UK. Enchanted to meet you, Mr Tomlinson: I’m sure you’ll fit in well here.” He couldn’t help but let out a tiny, stifled laugh before regaining his composure. “I’m sorry; this just wasn’t what I was expecting. Not because you’re a girl, or anything! I was expecting some intimidating guy in a suit and tie with a cat called Lucifer or something.”

“Nope, the cat’s called Dusty,” she replied, gesturing to the previously unnoticed feline stretched out on the black leather sofa. “But I should hope the rest isn’t true. I’d like your time here to be interesting and educational rather than intimidating. Do you have any ideas about what you’ll be doing?”

“Well, not anything big I’m thinking? Probably just making tea and photocopying, that’s what I was expecting.”

“And you expected right! But observe everything, Louis – I could call on you anytime to do something else, you know. Surveying a shoot, writing publicity, designing publicity: be prepared for whatever Yves throws at you, and you’ll do well. I already have a feeling you’re going to fit right in here at YSL.”

“Thanks,” Louis smiled.

“You’re very welcome! Now, I’d like to take a look at those designs. The ones you sent in with your application were extremely promising. And I like your jacket today too, Rive Gauche? Why did you choose that?”

“I had some velvet and I loved the contouring. One of my favourite pieces, and I thought it would be lucky if I wore a Yves-inspired garment for today, you know? Do you like it?”

“How long did it take you to make?” She avoided his question.

“A few hours last night; five or six?”

“Impressive.”

She was midway through casting a hopefully approving eye over the rough sketches when there was a knock at the door. “Gem?”

“Come in, it’s only Louis and I in here.” She didn’t look up from the pile as Harry Styles took a seat in between Louis and the cat – sorry, Dusty.

“Alright, Louis? Anyway, Gem, I wanted to see if you were free tonight. I happened to come across two tickets for tonight’s gig, you know the 1975 one? And I really wanna go, but the lads said they were busy.”

“I told you already, I’ve got that conference call with New York! I would, but I really can’t miss it; it’s important.” She finally looked up at her brother and her intern. “You’ve gotta be able to find someone else to go with you. Also, aren’t you meant to be at a shoot?”

Glancing at the ornate clock on the wall behind her, he laughed easily. “Not for another ten minutes, but I s’pose I’d better go now… walk with me, Louis?”

Louis shot a questioning look at Gemma, who nodded. “Don’t be too long. Bring me a hazelnut latte while you’re out, though? No sugar, thanks.”

Louis nodded back at her and walked through the doorway, Harry by his side.

“So, Louis, you free tonight?” Harry asked in his signature drawl. When Louis shrugged, his eyes brightened. “Wanna go with me to a gig?”

“Sure, but just so you know, I haven’t heard much of their stuff so I won’t be singing along.”

“Okay, that’s it, we can’t be friends anymore. I can’t believe you, Louis Tomlinson!” They both laughed. “Eh, no worries. I’ll be singing enough for both of us. As long as you don’t mind possibly being papped, which you should get used to if you wanna be famous someday.”

“Let’s face it: if there are pictures, no-one’s gonna be looking at me! They’ll be looking at your gorgeous cheekbones,” Louis got out before he realised what he was saying, and promptly blushed, his cheeks rose-coloured. “Um, I mean, I’d love to dress you someday. No, that’s not what I meant! Design for you. That’s what I meant. Design. Yep.”

The amused look he received from the model suggested he knew exactly what Louis had meant. “Yeah, course. You’d better go get that latte for Gem – I’ll see you later, kay? Wait, hang on, give me your phone.”

Louis unlocked his phone and handed it over; Harry tapped the screen for a while before holding the phone up and posing for the flash that came next.

“There. Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight. Until then, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Yeah… that,” Louis called after him, absolutely sure he was in a dream right now. “See you then.”  

The new contact in his phone read “ _the most gorgeous model in the world .xx”_ , but Louis couldn’t find it in his heart to change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [inspiration for louis' jacket (i'll add a sketch of what his looked like soon!)](https://www.1stdibs.com/fashion/clothing/jackets/yves-saint-laurent-rive-gauche-cropped-velvet-jacket/id-v_7509/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not edited!! also my first attempt at anything vaguely resembling smut hah a  
> i apologise for the late update... i'll try be faster i promise x  
> 

**Zayn .**

What?x

**Who are the 1975 ?**

Why?x

**I may or may not have been invited to a concert tonight and I don’t know what to wear ?**

They’re all indie rock, just put skinny jeans and some shirt on idk man x

Wait, who invited you?

**…don’t laugh .**

**Harry Styles .**

Ohhh my god are you being serious? I’ve gotta tell Li

**Zayn !**

Louis!x

**I hate you .**

No you don’t. xxxxxxxx

 

**_What’s this about Harry Styles, Lou? ;)_ **

**SHUT UP LIAM**

* * *

With faded skinny jeans enveloping his thighs and his trusty vans, he opened the door at eight-oh-one pm to a tall, fedora-wearing model.

“Harry, hi,” he smiled, willing his heartbeat to slow even just a bit. He let his eyes drink in the sight of the man before him; his really-fucking-tight jeans making his legs look a million times better than Louis’ ever would and brown boots and a loose shirt that said- “ _Hipsta please_?”

“Hey,” Harry replied, elongating the vowel and pouting. “I happen to like this shirt.”

“All I’m saying, mate, is that it’s a good job you’re the model and not the stylist.”

The model grinned. “I’ve heard that before, not surprisingly. You ready to go?”

Louis nodded. “Yeah, sure, let’s go.”

 

It wasn’t until they both got into the car waiting outside – a beautiful white sports car – that either of them spoke again, having walked down the stairs to Louis’ flat in comfortable silence.

“You like them, then?” Louis asked, turning his head to Harry from where it had been facing out of the window before. “The 1975, I mean. Well, you like them, of course, you’re going to watch them, but-”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry’s lips quirked, amused, his eyes remaining on the road. “One of my favourite bands. Apparently I look a bit like the lead singer, too, but you can make your own mind up about that. Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Like them,” his smirk extended.

“Honestly?” he paused slightly, then mirrored Harry’s mouth. “Would it ruin things if I said I’d never heard them before I googled them when I got home today?”

Harry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ in mock indignation. “Right, that’s it Tomlinson – out!” He pointed to the door and dissolved into giggles. “Nah, I’m joking, but they’re great, man. Why did you agree to come tonight, then?”

“Well, the person who asked me was very persuasive, though I admit it was more for my own benefit than theirs. I just wanted their hair, you see-”

Louis was cut off by a playful shove on his shoulder and saw the sparkle in Harry’s eyes immediately, his teeth white in the warm glow of the streetlights outside.

“Little shit,” Harry murmured fondly. “Sorry, I don’t let people touch my hair until at _least_ the third date. Let me have _some_ dignity, will you?” He caught Louis’ hand in a vice-like grip as the other tried to reach over, and Louis swallowed thickly because, well, _shit_. His hands were like bear paws and were currently wrapped tight around Louis’ suddenly tiny wrist and _oh_. The model leaned down to press a small kiss to the inside of his wrist before dropping it, smiling smugly, and Louis could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks. He was sitting in a car with Harry Styles, blushing like a fourteen year old girl and this was so not how he’d expected his first evening as a YSL intern to be.

“Cute,” he commented, and the older man rolled his eyes.

“Shut your mouth and respect your elders, Styles,” Louis said as he turned back to the window to try and conceal the flush. It didn’t really work, but it was worth a try? Maybe?

Apparently not, because Harry giggled again before announcing that they’d arrived and climbing out of the car, walking around to open Louis’ door and bowing. “Welcome to your destination, Mr. Tomlinson. Have a _lovely_ evening, Sir.” He straightened up, beaming.

And who was Louis to deny that it wasn’t just a little bit hot hearing Harry put on the fake accent and bloody bow in front of him?

 

They made their way into the venue, weaving through crowds of other fans. At some point during the journey Louis intertwined their fingers, definitely for safety because he didn’t want to lose Harry, okay? Harry pulled him along excitedly; “come on, Lou! I haven’t seen them perform in so long, I can’t wait,” and the nickname felt comfortable, like Louis had been hearing it every day of his life from the curly-haired boy beside him. They got into the building, almost running down corridors and passing the merch stands before Harry dragged him back so he could buy a shirt and a wristband, taking Louis over to the wall so he could strip off his original shirt and put the new one on, giving Louis a (too) quick look at his defined torso. Tucking his old shirt into the back pocket of his jeans, he just-about-managed to get the wristband over his hand, and it sat nicely over his pale wrist, the black a stark contrast to almost-white.

 

Harry and Louis were standing, which was a really great excuse for the older man to keep bumping into the other accidentally-on-purpose, even though he’d probably done it too much now to constitute that many accidents. The lighting was dim yet Harry’s eyes sparkled from the stage lights, musky as they were, highlighting contours of his cheekbones and jawline and he was more beautiful now than Louis had ever thought before, a light sheen of sweat spread over porcelain skin and complete _happiness_ visible as he sung faithfully to everything the band played. After a pretty good upbeat song – _Girls_ , Harry had said – the lead singer wrenched the microphone from the stand and came to stand at the front of the stage.

“Alright, alright, alright! How’d you all like that? Before we go to another, I’ve heard one of my very special friends is in the house tonight with us. Harry Styles, long time no see – tweet me once in a while, let me know you’re still alive, yeah? Anyway, hope you’re having a good one, and this one’s for you.” The arena erupted with mixed cheers and laughter as he began to sing, and it wasn’t until halfway through when Louis realised the reason for the dedication, ’ _looks just like me but six foot three’_ , and woah, there was an uncanny similarity between the pair. He’d forgotten Harry’s earlier words until now, when it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world, except possibly how much his heart was beating in heat and light and the simple presence of Harry. His eyes flickered between them before settling on the one closest to him, smiling as he watched Harry sing along with the band, swaying to the music. His sways stopped for a moment as he reached into the pocket of his jeans, slipping his phone out and typing something before sliding it back and glancing at Louis, quirking his lips fondly when they made eye contact.

Louis leaned into him, slipping an arm around his waist and leaning his head on an exposed neckline as the band slowed down with an acoustic version of another song.

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly into Harry’s defined collarbone. “This is really nice, thank you.”

Harry didn’t reply, instead dropping a second kiss into Louis’ hair with his arm around Louis’ shoulders, tight, warm.

It was nearing half past eleven when the concert finished. Harry didn’t stay to go backstage, telling Louis he was tired and he had a shoot in the morning and he’d tweet Matty later and besides, he didn’t want Louis to be tired for the next day either because he knew Gemma had something important for him to do. Harry’s car was a short walk away, and they made most of it in amicable silence.

The sky was cloudy, barely any stars visible, but the moon peeked through to bathe the streets in an ethereal glow. Louis’ eyes stayed on his and Harry’s shadows, watching as one of the charcoal figures lifted a hand and linked it with the hand of the other, feeling Harry’s warm grip on his fingers in the frigid September air.

“Come back to mine?” Harry murmured, leaning close so his lips were almost touching Louis’ earlobe.

“Thought you didn’t want us to be tired?” Louis replied half-heartedly. “Yeah, ‘course. Did you really expect me to say no?”

“Well, maybe,” he chuckled softly. “No.”

“What are you waiting for then, Styles? Let’s go.”

* * *

The ride up to Harry’s flat was torturously slow, but Louis quickly realised it had been worth his while when they got through the door and he found himself pressed against the door with Harry’s hips, those hands wrapped around his wrists again, pinning them to the door and oh _God_ , why wasn’t Harry kissing him yet? He was standing there with his face about an inch away from Louis’, breathing steadily, fucking _smirking_ , and God help him if Louis wasn’t going to kiss the smirk away.

He leaned forward, attempted to reach Harry’s lips, before Harry backed away a little.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis whined, “What are you _doing_? I’m going to die, you’re going to kill me, you-”

He was cut off when Harry finally kissed him, and it was everything he’d been anticipating and more. Harry’s mouth was a bed and Louis wanted to never wake up, they were like bloody pillows, and _fuck_ Harry and his fucking _everything_ because he was making Louis sound like he was back in sixth form being a pretentious twatty English student.

Harry’s soft moan brought him back to present day and Louis took his bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard, Harry letting out a _Jesus Christ_ and moving his hands to the bottom of Louis’ t-shirt, pressing cold fingers against Louis’ stomach and slowly lifting material up, up, breaking the kiss to lift it over Louis’ head and also to breathe because God, he’d forgotten that he was human for a second and humans definitely need to breathe.

Both were breathing heavily, gulping air in ragged inhales, and Harry’s hands were flat against Louis’ bare stomach. His eyes were full-blown, a tiny pool of green around a nebula of glittering black from the dim lights in the room, and they paused for a minute before trailing down Louis’ lithe torso.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?” Louis gasped, and moved his hands to take Harry’s shirt off, dying to touch what he’d been denied at the concert earlier, and that seemed like years ago rather than a few hours. Time with Harry seemed to stop and go two hundred miles an hour simultaneously, and it was as if they were suspended in their own little bubble within the world outside, Harry’s flat a floating piece of time in a void of nothing.

Harry’s shirt was off and Louis couldn’t stop himself from leaning down, from biting into the flat landscape of untainted skin and tasting a mixture of sweat and aftershave and fucking God knows what else but Louis knew that if he was ever on death row, he’d want this to be the last thing he ever tasted. It was just so _Harry_ , so purely Harry, and he definitely wasn’t in control of his lips sucking a red bruise into the junction between Harry’s neck and shoulder, planting kisses up his jaw before their lips met again in a rush of arousal.

“Louis, _please_ ,” Harry pleaded, “do _something_ , please,” and Louis had been waiting for an invitation like that since he had first lain eyes on Harry in the lift that morning, the perfect fucking model he’d been wanting to design an entire collection for ever since he was out of Central Saint Martin’s with a degree in design and high hopes for the future. He’d seen Harry’s Vogue shoots with Burberry shirts unbuttoned all the way down and sinful trousers that could have been sewn onto his body and Louis’ favourite one of his headscarves holding wild curls off of his angular cheekbones, and why was his mind drifting when said beautiful model was half-naked in front of him with cherry lips and roaming hands?

Louis pressed his body to Harry's, swallowing small gasps and moans and whines and ‘ _oh god, louis, fuck’_ s, mouths moving together like it was a life or death situation. It kind of was, in retrospect, because Louis was pretty fucking sure that if he didn't get more contact soon then he really was going to die without even having known what Harry's cock looked like.

He reached down, flattened the pads of his fingers against Harry's stomach before sliding them underneath his waistband, escaping the kiss once more to yank his jeans down - or wiggle, actually, because they were too fucking tight - and Harry did the same, peeling denim teasingly from Louis' legs. Their breath was still coming in deep, heavy gulps, and they stood back from one another, eyes roaming across pale limbs and (more than) hints of muscles and sinfully tight, tented boxer shorts.  
And suddenly they were back together, moving almost as one, and it was over as fast as it had started and Harry palmed Louis' cock one, two, three times and Louis came with a loud moan and " _oh my God, fucking Jesus Christ, Harry_ ". His cheeks flushed slightly, embarrassed at coming in his pants like a bloody teenager, before he glanced down and realised Harry had done the same.

"Just Harry is fine, you know," Harry smirked.

"What?" Louis was pretty sure that was the best sex he'd ever had (despite the lack of, you know, actual sex), so damn anyone who thought he was going to be able to think properly for at least a week. Or maybe like, three days.

Harry didn't answer, just laughing and turning around to get something to clean up with, sashaying his hips as he practically strutted to the bathroom with soaked boxers and about six lovebites on various different body parts, not all of them visible without Harry being as naked as he was now.

“You know,” Louis called impishly. “I definitely expect pancakes in the morning. Can you cook?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” teased Harry, having returned with a cloth.

“I hate you, you know?”

“Nah, you really don’t.”

And Louis was sure that that was the moment he realised that it had been a day and yeah, actually, he did. He liked Harry, a _lot_ , and fuck if he wasn’t going to make this work.

 

The pair got into Harry's bed together, Louis tucking Harry in his arms and leaving languid, open mouthed kisses on his neck. They lay together, their breath almost steady, before Louis nudged his nose into Harry’s jaw and breaking the quiet.

"Don’t you have a shoot tomorrow? Shit, it will be spring/summer, won’t it? Shit, your make-up artist is gonna be so mad,” Louis giggled, and proceeded to suck another dark mark into his skin.

"She won’t mind, not really. Well, she will, but I can charm my way out of anything,” he beamed, and Louis nodded his agreement before realising Harry couldn’t see him.

“I don’t doubt you can, Haz. Now sleep, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry whispered tiredly, and within minutes they were both fast asleep, shoulders falling and rising in time to the silent song of the night sky.

 

* * *

 

When Louis woke up to the sound of a neighbour's baby screaming and a shrill alarm, Harry was gone and the bed felt empty. He rolled over, surprised when he heard a crinkle of paper, dragging the paper out from under his face. He squinted, struggling to read what it said, but his eyes focused soon enough to see the bold penstrokes.

 

_Lou,_

_Good morning! I hope you slept well. Sorry I couldn't stay - had to be out early for the shoot and Gem would kill me for being late. I really wanted to stay with you, trust me._

_I set your alarm for you, too – you have a fashion house to intern at ;) There’s a spare key on the fridge, bring it with you and lock up please? See you later._

_H .xx_

_P.S. No pancakes today, sorry ;) help yourself to breakfast, though, and you’ll get your pancakes someday – promise!_

He rolled over again, clutching the paper to his chest and squeezing his eyelids shut again. He was so gone for Harry, it was unreal.

**Author's Note:**

> my [tumblr](http://fleurjolras.tumblr.com/)  
> my [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/starjolras)


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